Cake Icing
by newyorkgirl911
Summary: Thomas/Teresa fluff :) OneShot


The teasing smell of chocolate fused into the air surrounding Teresa. Tipping the sugar in with a steady wrist, she couldn't help but breath in the air a little more than she usually would of. This cake was meant to be for Minho's little cousins birthday, who had insisted he had a double chocolate cake with perfected icing topping it. Obviously, being the terrible cook he is, he ran straight to and begged her to make it for him. When she'd grudgingly agreed, he'd wrapped his huge arms around her neck and squeezed the living daylight of her.

At this moment, she regretted saying yes. The icing had decided to stick to the side of the bowl, and the batter was thicker than it should have been. How are you meant to make batter _fluffy?_

Teresa had already heard Thomas's footsteps behind her, trying (and failing) to be quiet. So you could say that she should have expected it when he threaded an arm through the gap in hers and onto her waist. But just by him touching her, she shivered and felt a rush of something in her chest. Thomas could take her breath away so easily, and no matter how much she tried to hide it, he ended up making her helpless.

"Hey." he said into her ear. His finger dipped into the icing before she could stop him. She felt him laugh when she scowls.

"Tom!" she tries to swipe his hand away, "Don't do that. I've been here for a good hour trying to make this damned thing ..."

"Why?"

"Minho's little cousin is turning five on Saturday." the sigh in her voice was clear, "And he's a terrible cook. So, here I am."

"Minho's scared senseless of his cousins." Thomas laughed huskily. Her fingers tightened on the spoon she was clutching, her heart rate fluttering out of rhythm.

"Great going, Minho."

"He's not the greatest with kids."

Thomas seriously messed her routine. Her boyfriend gave her the chills and excitement and made her laugh louder than anybody ever has. He was possibly (and by possibly, she meant definitely) the perfect combination that any girl would dream of. So she was baffled why he, of all people, had decided to pick her out of his crowd of admirers.

"Anyway," she continued, "You're distracting me. Help me or go and have a shower or something."

He didn't need one. He didn't sweat like normal people, he actually looked more attractive the dirtier than he was cleaner. The way his face glistened, and how the grubby shirt clung onto his arms, and especially how his black hair tousled.

"I'll help you." his perky tone wasn't entirely realistic, but she ignored the sarcasm and waved her spoon her the air.

"Pass me the vanilla essence."

When he let go of her body, she felt empty and colder than before, even if he was wearing a woollen top. He put it on the desk in front of her, and as she opened it, his arm snaked around once more to hold her in an awkward embrace.

"Thanks." keeping her hand steady was harder than before, but she manages it. She pours it into the mixture, which adds to the texture.

Thomas smirks with his warm lips on her neck. His arms tighten when she shivers, his lips widening, brushing against the exposed skin above her top. She can bet he's loving making her feel pleasured like this.

"Not now." she orders, as he start to kiss her neck. Her arm pauses stirring, to keep herself steady, "I'm busy."

Teresa wants him to carry on so badly, but restrains herself from turning round and kissing him right there and then. A comfortable silence falls over both of them, only broken by the occasional sounds of spoon against bowl.

When she's finally poured the mixture into the tray, she feels aged. Minho _would_ give her something in return, she thinks with gritted teeth, and if this god damned cake doesn't get devoured or enjoyed then he would throw it at his styled hair and curse at him.

"Tom?" she said softly, "I'm done. Put this in the oven."

"Am I your slave?" his tone is unhappy, but there's a glimpse of humour in his eyes. A small glimpse, but she notices it regardless.

"Just do it."

Thomas bustled over, shut the oven door and turned to dial to twenty minutes. Before he had chance to adjust to tuning round, Teresa hooked her arms around his secure neck with force. Her eyes stared into his for the first time properly all day, admiring the mixture of brown and green which suited only him. His expression of shock was replaced by a small smile.

He leant his neck downwards, and before pressing his lip to hers, mutters, "You have cake icing in your hair."

And proceeds to bend down and kiss her out of her senses.


End file.
